The Phone Call
by allthingsdecent
Summary: A reimagining of the end of Bombshells. What if instead of taking the pills, House had asked for help?
1. Chapter 1

He stood there for a long time, as though his legs were glued to the very spot where she had just ruined him. He could still see the sad look in her eyes and the touch of her hand on his face. It was the tenderness that killed him. It was like she pitied him.

At first he thought he might throw up. He actually _wanted _to throw up. But instead, he felt empty inside, hollowed out.

His next thought, a familiar one, was to end the pain. How many pills would it take to shut the pain out completely? Just make it all go away forever? In the end, would anyone really care if he lived or died?

He retrieved the pill bottle. It was hidden, but not in the wall—not the secret stash, the addict's lame contingency plan. It was hidden from _her_, in the tank of the toilet bowl, wrapped in plastic. He unwrapped it, slid down the floor, staring at the pills in his hand. He glanced, reflexively at the door.

He remembered how she looked that day—so beautiful to him, an angel in pink scrubs.

"I just need to know if you and I can work," she had said.

_But you destroyed it, House. Like you destroy any tiny shred of grace or beauty that enters your miserable life. _

She wasn't coming back.

So he went to swallow the pills. Actually brought his hand to his mouth. But a voice in his head stopped him.

_This is not who she wants you to be. This is not who _you _want to be._

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed.

#####

Wilson was on a blind date. One of the nurses had been trying to set him up with her sister-in-law for months. He repeatedly said no, but had finally caved. Cuddy's healthscare had something to do with it. He was surrounded by the sick and dying all the time, but seeing a close friend in peril had really put things in perspective. Life was too short to always say no.

Irene was an accountant: late 30s, pretty. She made jewelry that she sold on some sort of craft website as a hobby and loved mystery novels. She had a dog named Rufus, whose picture she kept in her wallet. Wilson liked her. Thought he might even muster up the nerve to kiss her goodnight.

The first time House called, Wilson put the phone on vibrate.

The second time, he simply ignored the phone as it twitched on the tabletop

The third time, he got a little worried.

"Excuse me," he said to Irene.

"House, it's a bad time," he whispered, cupping his hand over the phone. "I'm on a date."

House mumbled some words that Wilson couldn't quite make out.

"What? House, I'm in a restaurant, you need to speak up."

"Come over," House said.

There was something strange in his voice.

"Is this an emergency, House? Because our entrees just arrived."

There was a long silence.

"House?" Wilson said.

More silence, although he thought he could hear House breathing.

"House, you're scaring me. What's going on?"

The line went dead.

Wilson blanched, looked up at Irene.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"I'm . . . not sure," Wilson said. "That was my friend—my best friend. I think his girlfriend may've dumped him. He's an addict, prone to extreme gestures and I . . ."

"You have to go," she said.

"I feel like a jerk," he said.

"No, a jerk would stay. If it were my friend, I'd want to go, too."

"Thank you for understanding," Wilson said.

Wilson slapped some money on the table, popped up, smiled weakly at her, and left.

######

The door was ajar.

Wilson stepped in tentatively, looked around.

He found House sitting on the floor in the bathroom, staring blankly at his hand.

"House!" Wilson said. He ran toward him, knelt down.

"She's gone," House said quietly, almost to himself.

"Who? You mean Cuddy?" Wilson said. He noticed the two pills in House's hand.

"She's not coming back," House said. He seemed to be in a trance. "She's never coming back."

"Did you take anything, House?" Wilson said.

House blinked but didn't reply.

"House!" Wilson said, louder this time. "_Did you take anything_?"

For the first time, House looked up at his friend. His eyes were wide. He shook his head no.

Wilson sighed in relief. He took the pills out of House's hand—then took the bottle that was beside him (it was nearly full, a good sign) and pocketed them.

"I'm proud of you," he said.

Now House was staring at his empty hand.

"Calling me was the right thing to do," Wilson said. "I'm sorry I didn't pick up sooner. . . I was. . .I should have."

House didn't respond, kept balling and unballing his hand into a fist.

House's behavior was scaring Wilson a little. He hadn't seen him this out of it since that horrible day over two years ago, when he had dropped him off at Mayfield.

"Let's get you up off the floor and go sit on the couch, okay?" Wilson said, grabbing House by the elbows and practically yanking him off the floor.

Then he got two glasses, filled them with scotch, handed one to his friend.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

Moving from that spot on the floor—God knows how long he'd been sitting there—seemed to jolt House back to reality a bit. He finally seemed to know where he was.

"She found out about the pills," he said, taking a gulp.

"What pills? You told me that you didn't take any—"

"Not tonight. Last week."

"When you went to see her in the hospital," Wilson said, getting it. "You steeled yourself with vicodin."

House nodded.

"But how did she even find out?"

"I don't know. She just did. She sensed it. She assumed the worst about me. And, as usual, she was right."

"Did you tell her it was just the one time?"

"Yeah," House said, bitterly. "She was unmoved."

"I can't believe Cuddy would break up with you because of one relapse. There has to be more," Wilson said.

"It's not the pills. At least that's what she said. It's _what they represent_."

"What does that even mean?"

"They represent that I'm a selfish bastard," House said.

"I get it, I guess," Wilson said cautiously. "She feels like you weren't really there for her when she got sick." He was about to add, "I _told_ you this would happen," but thought better of it.

Instead he said, "Is there any chance she'll change her mind? She was upset. Emotional. It's been an emotional week for both of you."

"She's through with me," House said. "To be honest, I'm surprised she hung on as long as she did. Did you ever really believe that a woman like her was going to stay with a guy like me?"

Wilson shook his head a little bit.

"Don't wallow in this self-loathing crap, House. I'm not playing along. You guys were great together. I saw it with my own eyes."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" House said, putting his head in his hands.

"No, it's just the truth. She's crazy to break up with you. She loves you."

"Apparently, she doesn't. At least not anymore."

"House," Wilson said, sighing, not knowing what else to say. "I'm sorry."

"You and me both," House said. He looked at Wilson sadly.

"You're a good friend, Wilson," he said. "But you can go home now. Maybe you can still catch whatshername and actually get laid for a change. I promise I'm not going to take any pills. I'm not going to hurt myself. I just want to sleep."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather crash on your couch," Wilson said.

"Suit yourself."

House threw a blanket at his friend, then limped to the bedroom, turned out the light.

Wilson slept fitfully on the couch. He kept waking up, thinking he heard House stirring in his room.

Finally, he dozed off for good.

####

He awoke to smell of fresh coffee brewing. Thought perhaps he was dreaming it.

But no, House was in the kitchen, in a robe, pouring coffee into a mug.

"Hey," House said, nodding at him. "Wanna cup?"

"Okay," Wilson said, puzzled. "I didn't expect to see you in such good shape this morning."

"Expecting something a little more along the lines of self-destructive with a side order of suicidal?" House said.

"Yeah," Wilson admitted. "Something like that."

"Well, I'm not. In fact, I feel like a have a new lease on life," House said, almost cheerfully. He dropped two sugar cubes in Wilson's coffee and handed it to him

"You do?"

"Yes. I did a lot of thinking last night and I came to a conclusion."

"What kind of conclusion?"

"That I'm going to win her back."

_To be continued. . ._


	2. Chapter 2

Cuddy was on the phone when Wilson poked his head into her office. She motioned for him to come in and sit down.

"Yeah, I'll need that on my desk first thing tomorrow morning," she was saying. "That's 8 am sharp. Not 9ish. Right. Okay. . . bye-bye."

She hung up, and gave Wilson a wan smile.

To anyone who didn't know her, she was as impeccably put together as ever—a powerful woman in command of her domain. But Wilson saw tiny signs of stress: A few uncharacteristically uncooperative hairs. A run in her hose. Tiny bags under her eyes.

"You look like shit," he said.

"So you know," she said.

"Of course I know."

She looked down at her desk.

"It occurred to me that I should've called you on Friday. When I left his apartment. I was too busy licking my own wounds to think of it."

"It wasn't necessary," Wilson said. "He called me himself."

Cuddy looked up, genuinely surprised.

"He did?"

"Yes," Wilson said. "He asked for help. He was thinking about taking vicodin. He. . .didn't."

Cuddy blinked.

"Good for him," she said. "And thank you."

Wilson frowned at her.

"Why'd you do it, Cuddy?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"You were happy."

"I was . . .sometimes happy. I was also good at making excuses for him: Oh, that's just House being House. Oh, that really wasn't so horrible, when you consider it's House. Oh, you can't really expect anything better from House. . ."

"He tried," Wilson said.

"Good for him. Does he want a medal?" she said. There was a trace of bitterness in her voice. Then she caught herself.

"I tried, too, Wilson," she said. "I just ran out of second chances."

"Because of the vicodin?" Wilson said.

"No, not because of the vicodin," she said. "Because he blew it. Because he had a golden opportunity to show me what kind of man he is. . . and what did he do? He abandoned me in my time of need. He was a coward."

"But he came," Wilson protested. "Yes, he needed a pill to do it. But he came. I'm not saying it was right. I'm just saying, he did it because he loves you."

Cuddy shook her head.

"It's not enough," she said. "I deserve better. I was dying. I needed the man that I love to be at my side. And he wasn't. Life doesn't always hand you such defining moments. In House's defining moment he hid from me and took drugs."

Her words were harsh and Wilson felt immediately defensive. But a part of him knew that what she was saying was true.

"Well, he's a mess," he said finally. "He's heartbroken."

"So am I," Cuddy said. For a second, her bottom lip trembled. But she straightened her shoulders and looked at Wilson with resolve.

"I love him. And I'm going to miss the hell out of him. But this is the way it has to be."

"He's going to fight for you," Wilson said. "You need to know that. It's House. He's not going down without a fight."

"I would expect nothing less."

####

At about 8:30 that night, Cuddy gathered her belongings into her briefcase and strode to the employee garage.

House was leaning up against his motorcycle, waiting for her.

"You've been avoiding me," he said.

"How long have you been standing here?" she asked. He was usually gone by 5.

"Not that long," House said. "Only an hour. ..or two."

She looked at him wearily.

"What do you want?"

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Feel?"

"Any abdominal pain? Any difficulty urinating?"

"I'm fine House. I've been symptom free since the surgery. Now what do you want?"

"I want to know why you've been avoiding me."

"I assumed you . . . needed your space," she said.

"Why would I need my space?"

She had begun to walk to her car. He limped after her.

"Generally, after a breakup, couples avoid each other House."

"Well, what if I don't want to be broken up?"

Now _thi_s she didn't expect.

"It doesn't work that way, House. I ended it. Either one of us had the right to end our relationship at any time."

"Well, you made a mistake," House said.

"Did I?"

"One should never make important life decisions in times of extreme stress. You obviously weren't thinking clearly."

"Actually, I would argue that I had a moment of perfect clarity."

"You love me," he said stubbornly.

They had arrived at her car.

"I never said I didn't love you," she said.

"And I love you."

"I never said you didn't love me."

"Seems like strange grounds for a breakup."

"Do you really want to do this again, House? Rehash why I left you?"

"I know why you left me. Because I fucked up. But I can do better," he said.

"So you say. . .every time."

He put his hand on her arm. She looked at it, accusingly. He dropped it.

"Us being broken up makes no sense," he said.

"You could argue that us being together made no sense," she countered.

He ignored her.

"The way I see it. . . you and I are trapped in this maze together. We both keep trying to get out, but we always end up right back where we started—with each other. We may as well just accept it."

"Maybe I found an exit from the maze," she said.

"There's no exit," he said.

"That Sartre's idea of hell," she said, ironically.

"It's not," he said, blinking at her. "It's us. It's our love story."

He made meaningful eye contact with her, but she looked away.

"House, I want to go home. I'm tired. I want to see my daughter and take a bath and mourn a little more for our relationship. Because it's _over_."

She got into her car. But she rolled down the window so they could still talk.

"It doesn't have to be over," he said.

"It does."

"At least let me try to win you back—to woo you."

She had the key in the ignition,

"Woo me?" she said. His use of the old-fashioned word made her smile, despite herself.

"We never got a proper courtship," he said.

She chuckled a bit.

'I've always considered the rubble in Trenton to be our courtship," she said.

He didn't laugh with her.

"You deserve to be wooed," he said.

"I deserve a lot of things," she said.

"Yes, you do."

She felt, inexplicably, like she was about to cry.

"House, you're such a stubborn ass. You won't even let me break up with you properly."

"So you'll let me court you?" House said.

"Do I have a choice?" she said.

She turned on the car and started to pull away.

"Prepare for some serious wooing, woman!" he shouted after her, with some enthusiasm. "You're going to be wooed like you've never been wooed before!"

"That's what I'm afraid of," she muttered as she drove out of the garage.

####

When she did her usual rounds the next morning, there was a large bouquet of flowers waiting for her at the front desk. They contained white lilies—her favorites.

The card read:

"Even lilies feel inadequately beautiful in your presence.- H"

Cute, but she expected better. Flowers? He was usually more creative than that.

She got to the second floor. The nurse at the admissions desk called out to her.

"Dr. Cuddy! Dr. House left these for you."

More flowers. This time the note read: "I figured this floor needed some beautifying until you showed up."

She shook her head and smiled.

When she got to the third floor, another nurse called out to her.

"Dr. Cuddy!"

Another giant bouquet.

"The third floor misses you when you're gone," the note read.

"I had no idea Dr. House was such a romantic," the nurse said, beaming at her.

"Neither did I," Cuddy said.

On the fourth floor, she didn't even wait to be summoned, walked right up to the main desk.

"These are from. . ." the nurse said.

"I know, Dr. House."

This bouquet was even larger than the previous three.

"I'm kind of relieved this is the last floor," the note read. "I am a gimp, after all."

She shook her head.

When she got back to her office, it was overrun with flowers. Flowers on the couch. Flowers on her desk. Flowers on the floor. There must've been 50 bouquets.

She wasn't even sure how House had pulled this off. He must've timed it to the second. Her rounds generally took less than an hour.

She picked up the phone and dialed.

"Maintenance?" she said. "Yeah, I need some flowers distributed to the children's ward."

####

Cuddy was having lunch with her friend Susan, a dermatologist, when House slipped into the booth beside her.

"Did you get my flowers?" he asked.

"They were kind of hard to miss," Cuddy said.

"Awww, he gave you flowers?" Susan said, smiling dotingly at House. "I must've missed them in your office."

House looked at Cuddy, hurt.

"You got rid of them?" he said.

"I. . .distributed them in the children's ward," Cuddy admitted, giving Susan a look.

In truth, she had taken one lily and folded it into the pages of her grandfather's text book.

"I thought you'd want to enjoy them for at least _one day_," House said sulkily.

Susan, sensing she'd really stepped in it, got up quickly.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds alone," she said. "Lisa, I'll email you that article I was telling you about."

"Thanks Susan."

After she walked away, Cuddy looked over at House, expecting more pouting. But his mood had completely changed.

"What are you so happy about all of a sudden?" she said.

"She called us lovebirds," he said, grinning.

"So?"

"So you didn't tell her we broke up," he said.

"It. . . didn't come up."

"It didn't come up because you didn't _want it_ to come up. Because you know our breakup is only temporary."

"No," Cuddy said, getting up abruptly. "It really isn't."

But her swift denial actually pleased him more. His plan was working. He just needed to be patient.

#####

Two nights later, he showed up at her house.

Upon seeing him, she rolled her eyes.

"It would be so much easier to miss you if you would actually _go away_," she said.

"I come bearing gifts," he said. He shoved a bottle of 2005 Chateau LaMer Pomerol at her.

She recognized the bottle right away. A few weeks into their relationship, when they were still basking in the newness of each other, they had gone to a French restaurant on the outskirts of town. They had extravagantly ordered the most expensive bottle on the menu. (This was the sort of thing new lovers did—acted like every night was a special occasion.)

It had been a particularly nice date for them—drama free. House managed to go the whole evening without insulting the waitstaff or any of the other customers. He was making her laugh, as he always did, telling a story about how he'd convinced Taub that a male patient had a crush on him.

"You're pretty great, you know that?" Cuddy had said, resting her hand on her chin and looking at him adoringly.

"I know," he said, looking adoringly back.

On the ride home, Cuddy couldn't keep her hands off him. She kept kissing his neck and rubbing his thigh until finally they pulled over and had sex along the side of the road. It was one of the hottest and most spontaneous things she had ever done.

And of _course_, he would bring that particular bottle to remind her.

"Thanks," she said, taking the bottle without acknowledging that she recognized it.

Just then, Rachel came barreling out of her room.

"Howse!" she said, colliding roughly into his bad leg.

"Rachel, be careful!" Cuddy said.

"She's fine," House said, grimacing a bit and swallowing back the pain.

He hadn't been gone long enough for Rachel to have noticed his absence.

"Play with me!" she demanded.

"I'd love to, mini Cuddy. Up to your mom."

Cuddy looked at her watch.

"It's past her bed time."

"Just a few minutes!" Rachel insisted.

"Yeah, just a few minutes," House said.

Cuddy wasn't sure this was a good idea. She didn't want Rachel to get confused. But the damage was done. He was here now. And if she refused to let him play with her, a definite toddler meltdown would follow.

"Don't get her too worked up," she said. (Sometimes after playing with House, Rachel was as jacked up as if she'd just inhaled a pound of sugar.)

Rachel took his hand, and led him back to her room.

There was no way Cuddy was joining them, as that was obviously House's ulterior motive. She decided to pay some bills instead. She heard giggling, and House making a roaring sound like a lion. Then there was some rustling. Then it got quiet.

After about 45 minutes, he emerged.

"She's asleep," he said.

"Asleep? Who put her pajamas on?"

"I did."

"And who changed her diaper?"

"I did, of course. And we brushed her teeth, too."

Cuddy looked at him incredulously.

"Why do you look so surprised? It's not like I've _never _put her to bed before."

"Yeah, actually, it is," Cuddy said.

"Really?" House said, conceding it was possibly true. "Huh."

He eyed the bottle of wine, which was on the kitchen counter.

"Shall we break open the Pom?"

"No, House. You should go."

"It would be criminal to not drink that bottle tonight," House said. "Remember the last time we drank that wine? That was the night we. . ."

"I remember," she said, cutting him off.

"My car's right out front," he said. "If you wanted to recreate the whole experience.

"Goodnight, House," she said.

"You sure?" he said. He stepped forward, put his arms around her waist.

"Because I want you as much tonight as I did then—even more."

He leaned down to kiss her. She went to kiss back, almost reflexively, then she snapped out of it—put her hand on his chest, pushed him away.

"House, don't make this harder than it has to be," she said.

"Why does it have to be hard at all?" he said, lightly stroking the base of her neck.

It annoyed her to no end that his touch still made her weak in the knees.

"House, I'm serious. Leave," she said.

He sighed, somewhat dramatically.

"You're not going to be able to deprive yourself forever," he said.

######

"He won't leave!" Cuddy complained to Wilson a few days later. "He keeps showing up. In my office, in the cafeteria, at my house at night. He rode his bike along with my morning jog yesterday. He's like a . . ."

"Cockroach with a limp?" Wilson said helpfully.

"Something like that," Cuddy said.

"So tell him to stop."

"I have," she said.

"Tell him you'll get a restrainer order," he said.

"Let's not get carried away," she said.

"I'm not saying _actually_ get a restraining order. I'm saying tell him you'll get one."

"I can't do that. . ."

"Why not?" he said.

"Because. . ."

"Because you don't want him to go away," said Wilson knowingly. "Admit it, you're flattered by his dogged pursuit."

"More like exhausted by it," she said.

"If you say so."

#####

A week later, she found herself at a going away happy hour for Masters, who was leaving for greener pastures. (She had never been a good fit on House's team; to co-exist with him required a certain moral relativism that Masters was constitutionally incapable of).

Cuddy had mentored Masters to an extent, so there was no way she could duck out, even though she knew he would be there.

He arrived after she did. She was sure he would brazenly sit right next to her, but he didn't. He sat at a table with his team. He did, however, stare at her sulkily, sighing and squirming in his chair, as though the distance between them was making him physically miserable.

Besides Wilson, virtually no one at the hospital knew that she and House had broken up. He hadn't told anyone, because he was convinced it was just temporary. She hadn't told anyone because, well, it was no one else's business. (Of course, that wasn't House's interpretation of her behavior, but he tended to view the world through House-centric glasses.)

She wondered if the fact they were at opposite ends of the bar would tip anybody off. Of course, since House wouldn't take his eyes off her, people probably just assumed they were in a fight.

At some point during the evening, there was a general consensus that House should play the piano.

He demurred at first, but finally agreed. He sat down, rolled up his sleeves, and began to play.

Normally at a party like this, if someone played the piano, one of two things would occur: Either everyone would start to sing along with whatever cheery Billy Joel or Barry Manilow tune the pianist was banging out. (Definitely _not _House's style.) Or the pianist would tinker with a kind of jazzy background music and everyone would resume conversation.

But House began playing a piece—a slow, haunting melody; kind of Erik Satie crossed with Thelonius Monk—that was filled with such longing and beauty, everyone just stopped what they were doing and listened, slack-jawed. When he was done, Masters walked up to the piano bench.

"Wow," she said wistfully. "That was amazing. Did you write that?"

House nodded. "I wrote it last week," he said. And before he even said the words, Cuddy knew he had written it for her. "It's called Lisa's Song," he said. He looked at her.

Suddenly, Cuddy felt like she couldn't breath. She knew she had to get out of there.

"Excuse me," she said to her table, and rushed out the door. She felt 40 sets of eyes on her back.

She walked briskly to her car, knowing if she walked fast enough, he couldn't catch up.

"Cuddy," he said, limping up after her. He was walking so quickly, she feared he might hurt himself. "Slow down," he said, out of breath.

So she stopped.

"What's the rush?" he said.

"I. . .I have some work to do," she lied, pulling out her keys.

"Did you like your song?" he said.

"House. . .I . . .I need you to stop doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Confusing me."

"I'm not trying to confuse you," he said.

'Then what are you trying to do?"

"Prove it to you."

"Prove what?"

"That I'm never going to let you down again," he said.

She looked into his eyes, which were filled with sincere regret. She felt something catch in her throat.

"I. . .have to go," she said. And got in her car and drove off.

#######

The next day at work, she was overcome by a strange urge to go on the roof. She couldn't exactly figure out why, but she sensed it was important. So she slipped into the stairwell and climbed up five flights.

When she got to the roof, she saw it: A bouquet of flowers in the corner—long wilted and dead—with a note: "I'd climb 80 flights of stairs to tell you how much I love you-H."

Cuddy sat down, her back to the guard rail and started to cry. How had she known? She just did. It was like they were psychically connected—two bodies, one soul.

House was right. There no exit. Maybe she didn't want there to be one.

"The flowers were much less depressing two weeks ago," House said.

She looked up at him.

"Did you follow me here?" she said, hastily wiping her eyes.

"No, I come up here every day around this time to see if you found them," he said. He slid down to the ground next to her. "Looks like you found them."

He gave a half smile.

"I don't even know why I came," she said, sniffling. "I just . . .knew."

"The thing is, Cuddy, I love you so much," he said. "I just want to be with you. I'm so sorry about everything, I. . ."

"Just shut up and kiss me, House," she said.

So he did.

THE END


End file.
